<g>The Keep</g> of Arundel Castle,--for so many ages the residence of a warlike garrison,--is now abandoned to the ‘owls and bats.’ Of the former, the breed is peculiar to the place, and the largest in the kingdom. To the student of natural history, a visit to their domicile is a treat of no common interest. Strangers often resort from a great distance to make acquaintance with them; and many who attach little importance to Minerva, are struck with the gravity of her representatives in Arundel-Keep. [Illustration] The “portraits,” here introduced, were taken from life, with a peep into their domestic economy, which is conducted in the old niche-like fire-place of the garrison, where the steel-clad warrior of other days has often prepared his hasty mess, or chafed his limbs after a cold night-watch on the battlements. There is here, perhaps, no fox to look out from the loophole and bay the moon; but these <g>Owls</g> are no unpoetical substitutes to proclaim the changes that have come over this once thickly peopled fortress. When we visited them in October last, they consisted of three couples, and in size and appearance fully justified the character we had heard of them. They are not permitted, however, to remain at large; a strong circular netting is thrown over the Keep, and under this awning they may enjoy everything--except liberty. They have the advantage also of separate niches for the enjoyment of connubial happiness: but it is easy to observe that, not having freedom, they fancy they have nothing worth having. The custodé, in order to show them off to advantage, dislodged a couple; and certainly the expanse of wing which they showed in their flight to the opposite side, was much more like that of an eagle than an owl. At that moment the fact of their being prisoner seemed to have been forgotten; for when removed from their perch by an unceremonious ‘poke’ of the keeper’s rod of office, they made an ambitious attempt to soar at once into the sky; but the netting was too strong, and, compelled to keep a horizontal flight, they dropped sulkily into a niche in the opposite wall, with a peculiar barking sound, very expressive of indignation and disappointment.